


Twilight of the Republic Vignettes

by spectral_musette



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Gen, Missing Moments
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2020-03-05 17:31:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 14,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18833392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spectral_musette/pseuds/spectral_musette
Summary: A collection of short scenes (2000 words and less) from before The Phantom Menace to The Clone Wars years. Most stories focus on Obi-Wan Kenobi and people close to him, with a few exceptions.Chapter 1 is an index with short summaries of each story found in subsequent chapters. All stories in this collection are canon-compliant.I originally posted some of the stories on Tumblr, so the URLs of the original posts are included in the endnotes.





	1. Chapter Index and Story Descriptions

 

**Chapter Index**

(Stories are largely ordered as I wrote them so that I can continue to add them)

 

2: Shortly after The Phantom Menace, Obi-Wan and his new apprentice try to find their footing with one another. Not previously posted elsewhere.

 

3: Set during the Season 5 finale arc (TCW S5 ep 20) of The Clone Wars, Anakin talks to Obi-Wan about his mission to Mandalore during the drama of Ahsoka’s trial. Originally posted on Tumblr on 3-30-17.

 

4: During the Clone Wars, Anakin returns to Coruscant and makes his way to see Padme. Orginally posted on Tumblr on 5-6-17.

 

5: Before The Phantom Menace, during the mission to protect Satine, Qui-Gon rescues a young Zygerrian child and leaves her in the care of Obi-Wan and Satine. Originally posted on Tumblr on 5-11-17.

 

6: A temporarily restful moment on Mandalore between Padawan Kenobi and the young Duchess. Originally posted on Tumblr on 6-14-17.

 

7: Shortly after The Phantom Menace, Anakin tries to comfort a quietly grieving Obi-Wan. Originally posted on Tumblr on 7-2-17.

 

8: Before The Phantom Menace, in their continued attempts to evade agents of Satine’s enemies, Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan have taken the Duchess to an Outer Rim world without much advanced technology and minimal contact with the rest of the galaxy. They plan to travel along a pilgrimage route of the local religion, posing as a Sage, a Priestess, and her Protector. Originally posted on Tumblr on 10-7-17.

 

9: Shortly before the end of the Clone Wars, Master Depa Billaba goes to Ryloth to aid her old Master and meets Cham Syndulla’s young daughter. Originally posted on Tumblr on 2-7-18.

 

10: A quiet moment between Obi-Wan and Satine following the Clone Wars episode “The Pursuit of Peace” (TCW S3 ep 11), when Satine is about to leave Coruscant. Originally posted on Tumblr on 6-9-18.

 

11: A short scene of Anakin angst soothed by Padme, set after the events of “The Shadow Warrior” (TCW S4 episode 4). Originally posted on Tumblr on 6-20-18.

 

12: During the Clone Wars, Ahsoka encounters an unexpected danger, much to Obi-Wan and Anakin’s dismay. Originally posted on Tumblr on 12-15-18.

 

13: A scene set before the end of Clone Wars episode “Voyage of Temptation _”_ (TCW S2 ep 13), before the Coronet’s arrival at Coruscant. An introspective Satine accepts Obi-Wan’s offer of comfort. (Not necessarily compliant with the Chapter 10 story). Originally posted on Tumblr on 1-4-19.

 

14: A short scene set during Attack of the Clones, just after the battle of Geonosis. Padme checks on a recovering Anakin. Originally posted on Tumblr on 5-6-19.

 

15: A short scene set during The Phantom Menace, after the pod race, extending Qui-Gon’s conversation with Shmi Skywalker while Anakin packs to leave home. Originally posted on Tumblr on 5-13-19.

 

**Chronological order**

 

Before The Phantom Menance:

5, 6, 8

 

During The Phantom Menace:

15

 

After The Phantom Menace:

2, 7

 

During Attack of the Clones:

14

 

During The Clone Wars:

13

10

11

3

(unspecified order) 4, 9, 12


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shortly after The Phantom Menace, Obi-Wan and his new apprentice try to find their footing with one another. Not previously posted elsewhere.

            It was a relief to be away from the Temple.

            Obi-Wan didn’t usually feel that way – it was his home. But Anakin was not adjusting well. The children his own age were still Younglings, but naturally they knew and could do things that Anakin couldn’t. And his tales of pod races and space battles baffled them. Boasting about adventure and excitement was not what they expected of a Padawan, after all.

            So it was better, he supposed, to give Anakin some of his most basic training out in the field, where he wouldn’t feel as pressured and compared to the other children. He could see Master Yoda’s reasoning, of course. Still, it seemed strange to take such a small child out on a mission.

            Obi-Wan opened his eyes to glance at the boy, sitting next to him in the cockpit of the shuttle, feet dangling from the seat, shivering. Obi-Wan shrugged out of his robe and handed it over.

            “Master?”

            “You look cold.”

            “I’m fine.”

            “It’s all right, Anakin. I should’ve thought to get you a heavier robe when we were at the Temple.”

            Anakin made a face, but took the garment and wrapped up in it, so there was only a shorn blonde head emerging from the rumpled heap of brown fabric.

            “Can I fly the ship?”

            He practically blurted it. Obi-Wan cocked an eyebrow at him and tried not to grin.

            “We’re in hyperspace.”

            “I _mean,_ later.”

            “Yes, I’ll teach you to fly the ship.”

            “I _know_ how to fly the ship,” he muttered, hunkering deeper into the cocoon of robes.

            “Oh, have you flown a lot of this type of shuttle?” Obi-Wan replied, hearing the sarcasm in his voice and immediately regretting it. After all…

            “No, but the basic design is –“

            “Anakin.”

            He glowered, staring hard out the viewport. “Sorry, Master.”

            “I’m well aware of your outstanding abilities. I just thought it would be best if we didn’t put the property of the Jedi Order into the hands of anyone without a basic primer on flight operations, hm?”

            “I said sorry,” he replied plaintively.

            “And you probably oughtn’t mention it back at the Temple, as it’s likely to give _someone_ fits.”

            “Yes, Master.”

            Obi-Wan grimaced.

            “You don’t like it when I call you Master,” Anakin observed.

            “I’m not used to it,” he admitted, stretching his legs out under the console and propping his boots on the bulkhead.

            “It’s how Master Yoda said I should address you. And it’s what you called Qui-Gon.”

            Obi-Wan stared ahead hard. Someday, he hoped, he’d be able to hear Qui-Gon’s name without feeling like it knocked the wind out of him.

            “I miss him,” Anakin said quietly.

            “I know.”

            “He called me Ani. You don’t.”

            Obi-Wan straightened, and swiveled his chair a little to regard his small apprentice.

            “Does that bother you?”

            “I’m not sure. Mom called me Anakin when she was serious or when I was in trouble. The way you say it, I feel like I’m always in trouble.”

            “That isn’t why I do it.”

            “Why do you?”

            Obi-Wan smiled a little. “I suppose because I hated being called ‘Obi’ when I was a Youngling. I know you don’t dislike ‘Ani’. But you’re more than just the boy from Tatooine now. He’ll always be part of you, but you’re a young Jedi, and worthy of respect and dignity. I want you to know that you will always get it from me. So, to me, you’re Anakin.”

            Anakin quirked half a smile that looked much too old and wise for his cherubic face. “I guess I don’t mind that.”

            They were quiet again for a little while, and Obi-Wan wondered if Anakin had finally fallen asleep.

            “He was more than just your master, wasn’t he?” His voice sounded small over the hum of the engines. “Qui-Gon. He was more like… like a …” Anakin took a deep breath, as though hesitant to fully confess what Qui-Gon had meant to him. “A dad.”

            “Yes. In a way, I suppose he was.” It was on the tip of his tongue to tell Anakin that the Jedi didn’t understand family in quite the same way as those outside the Order, but it didn’t seem the right time for it. In all the ways that mattered, Qui-Gon Jinn had been a father to him.

            “Me too.”

            Obi-Wan turned back to face him again.

            “I guess in a way that makes us brothers.”

            Obi-Wan smiled at Anakin and watched his nervous expression turn to relief. He leaned forward and ruffled Anakin’s short hair, and then pulled his hood up over his head.

            “Brothers it is. Now get some sleep, Anakin, please.”

            Anakin settled back in his nest of Jedi robes. “Yes, Master.”

            And this time, Obi-Wan didn’t flinch.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set during the Season 5 finale arc (TCW S5 ep 20) of The Clone Wars, Anakin talks to Obi-Wan about his mission to Mandalore during the drama of Ahsoka’s trial. Originally posted on Tumblr on 3-30-17.

         “How _could_ they,” Anakin raged, pacing in front of the waterfall, cybernetic hand reaching out to strike the water on each pass. The spray dusted his companion, sitting placidly in a pose of meditation, catching in his hair and beard and forming droplets that caught the ruddy twilight slanting down from the skylights of the Room of a Thousand Fountains. “How could they not _know_ that she’s innocent? How can they not _feel_ it?”

           “Emotions must be clouding insight in this manner,” Obi-Wan replied slowly. “Even for the Council.”

           “And how can _you_ sit there meditating?” Anakin demanded.

           “With difficulty, in the present circumstances.”

           “I know you tried,” Anakin conceded, flexing his hand into a fist. The missing limb ached, still, especially when he was distraught or his adrenaline was pumping.

           “Of course I tried. I know Ahsoka didn’t do this.”

           “Then why aren’t you-”

           “Because I am _exhausted_ , Anakin,” Obi-Wan snapped.

           Anakin looked up in surprise, taking in for the first time the weary set of his friend’s shoulders and the dark shadows under his eyes.

           “I’m sorry,” Anakin replied quickly. “I was so focused on Ahsoka that I forgot you were just in from Mandalore and the front in that sector. Why don’t you get some sleep?”

           “I am trying to meditate,” Obi-Wan countered, voice deceptively smooth again.

           “Where’s Satine?” There was a suggestive quip on the tip of his tongue about the Duchess wearing him out, but…

           Obi-Wan’s calm expression faltered, and for a moment Anakin was nine years old again, watching him struggle to master his grief in the flickering light of a funeral pyre.

           “Obi-Wan. I didn’t realize. I am _so_ …”

           “There is nothing to say.”

           “I should’ve been there.”

           “You were under orders from the Chancellor.”

           “I should’ve gone anyway.”

           Obi-Wan merely shook his head.

           “You needed me. And I wasn’t…”

           “I don’t blame you,” he said softly.

           “Was it Death Watch?”

           “Yes and no.”

           “What does that mean?”

           “Maul.”

           It seemed unbelievable that Obi-Wan could say it so matter-of-factly.

           “Is that filth dead yet?” he ground out, dimly appalled by the hate in his own voice.

           “Not by my hand,” Obi-Wan replied, maybe more than dimly so. “Anakin…”

           “ _What_?”

           “Vengeance won’t bring back Satine. It won’t bring back Qui-Gon.”

           “Who’s next, though? Who else will he hurt to get to you? Ahsoka? Me?” Let the half-of-a-bastard _try_.

           “If I must, I will not hesitate to kill him. But not for revenge, and not with hate in my heart.”

           “How can you…. How do you not _feel_ _something_ ,” Anakin demanded, pacing again. “She was your-“

           “She was not _mine_ ,” Obi-Wan denied sharply.

           If it was him… If Padmé was…

           He couldn’t even complete the thought.

           “You loved her.”

           Obi-Wan crumpled forward, shoulders trembling.

           “I did,” he conceded, voice thick with sorrow. “I do.”

           “Obi-Wan.” Anakin knelt in front of him and touched his arm lightly.

           “ _There is no emotion_ ,” Obi-Wan murmured, his hands gripping his knees and knuckles white.

           “ _There is no death, there is the Force_ ,” Anakin offered, hoping it wouldn’t sound as empty to Obi-Wan as it did to him.

           Obi-Wan only nodded slightly, letting out an unsteady breath. “Thank you, Anakin.” He breathed again, his handsome face settling back into the passive mask of Jedi serenity but for the wetness on his cheeks. “You should be with Ahsoka.”

           “In other words, _leave me alone_.”

           “I didn’t…”

           “All right. I’ll go.” He stood, looking down at Obi-Wan with the uncanny impression of the years contracting again, of the heartbroken padawan kneeling before Qui-Gon Jinn’s lifeless form. “I’ll see you at the trial.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original Tumblr post:
> 
> https://spectral-musette.tumblr.com/post/159008984589/i-find-you-as-a-very-important-part-of-obitine


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During the Clone Wars, Anakin returns to Coruscant and makes his way to see Padme. Orginally posted on Tumblr on 5-6-17.

         “Briefing with the Council in the morning,” Obi-Wan told him. “Don’t be late.”

           “Never,” Anakin replied, rolling his eyes.

           “You should get that blaster burn looked at with the Healers.”

           “Don’t fuss, Obi-Wan. Kix took care of it.”

           “Still…”

           “It’s _fine_.” He flexed his arm and rubbed at the injury to demonstrate its fitness.

           Obi-Wan paused as Anakin turned from the hangar to the speeder bay.

           “Anakin, it’s the middle of the night.”

           “I’m not on Coruscant time yet,” Anakin argued. “I think I’ll go out for something decent to eat. At this hour, all the commissary will have is instant porridge and yesterday’s bread.”

           Obi-Wan smiled slightly. “Do you want some company? We could go to Dex’s.”

           Anakin couldn’t help smiling too. Since he’d come to the Temple, a trip to Dex’s diner was Obi-Wan’s default treat and balm for disappointments and ruffled feelings. When you were nine, out of your depth and miserably homesick, the world did look a little brighter after a bowl of spicy chili and a tall muja slush.

           “No offense, but we’ve been under each other’s feet on this last campaign for weeks. I think I need some time…”

           “Of course,” Obi-Wan interrupted briskly, clearly somewhat offended.

           Anakin regretted it a little – he hadn’t meant to hurt Obi-Wan’s feelings (which his old friend would undoubtedly vehemently deny). And a nostalgic trip to the diner would’ve been nice.

           But only a little. After all, he had another engagement.

           “Let’s take Ahsoka tomorrow after the briefing,” he suggested. “Nerf roast and gravy is the weekend special - she’ll love that.”

           “Good idea,” Obi-Wan agreed. “Get some rest, Anakin,” he recommended, his tone gentler than the commanding words.

           “I’m wound up,” Anakin confessed honestly. “But I will, later.” He waved Obi-Wan off, turning into the speeder bay, eyes scanning the rows of vehicles for his favorite.

           A stop off at a quick-service sandwich shop soothed his conscience. He hadn’t lied to his friend, but eating real, fresh food rather than GAR rations for the first time in weeks just wasn’t his only objective.

           There were two reasons this speeder was his favorite.

           One, he’d fine-tuned the engine to hum as smoothly as a sandfly and reach speeds that were technically illegal.

           Two, he could switch off the tracker that displayed its location in the city on the monitor back in the Temple.

           He parked it in its usual spot, set the alarm, and headed down a few twisting alleyways. This close, it was all he could do not to run.

           A lift, and then a force-aided jump landed him on a terrace, surrounded by decorative pots holding an array of hardy flowering plants native to Naboo. At the door, he put a security code into the lock pad. It clicked open softly, and he slipped inside.

           He leaned back against the door for a moment. Sneaking in was always a little bit of an adrenaline rush. Getting caught lurking around this particular high rent district by holocamera drones wouldn’t do anybody any good, nor would having to make awkward excuses to Padmé’s security staff for what he was doing on her terrace in the wee hours.

           It was worth it though, to be able to come home, unplanned and unannounced, to find his wife peacefully asleep in their bed. Dreaming, he hoped, of him.

           She’d rolled over to his side of the large bed, covers in disarray, her mass of dark curls spread across the pillow.

           Quietly, he knelt down beside the bed, torn between the soft, protective desire to let her sleep and other, more urgent needs. It had been long weeks since he’d seen more than a dim, blurry holo of her. He bent and kissed her lightly on the mouth, and then straightened to watch her wake.

           Her dark eyes fluttered open, focusing on him and lighting with joy.

           “Anakin!” She threw her arms around his neck. “Oh Ani, you’re _here_ …”

           He buried his face against her neck, breathing in the scent of her hair and leaving a few hot kisses against her throat. “Padmé,” he whispered.

           “You didn’t comm…. I would’ve waited up.”

           “I didn’t want you to,” he told her as she pushed him back, running her hands tenderly over his face and through his hair. “You don’t mind the surprise, do you?”

           “Mind? I thought I was dreaming,” she murmured, pulling him into a long, deep kiss. He put one arm around her waist, pulling her closer, his pulse pounding in his ears.

           “You’re even more beautiful than you are in my dreams,” he whispered breathlessly against her lips.

           “And _I_ know it’s not a dream, or you wouldn’t be wearing this,” she said wryly, tapping her knuckles against the plastisteel armor over his chest and shoulders.

           He chuckled, reaching for the fasteners.

           “Let me.”

           He did, gratefully, holding his breath as she carefully removed armor, belt, tabards, gloves, tunics, letting her gentleness and love wash over him, pushing away the pain and weariness of the battlefield. When he finally took a breath, the scent of her perfume made him forget, for the moment, the acrid stink of blaster fire mingled with sweat and fear and worse.

           “Oh Ani, what…?” She paused in the midst of undressing him, hand hovering over the bandage on his bicep.

           “It’s nothing,” he reassured her, “it’s not bad.” He took a slow breath, trying to forget again, to lose himself in the happiness and relief of being with her.

           She continued with even gentler hands, stroking his bare shoulders, and then skimming the backs of her fingers down his stomach. He pulled back slightly as she deftly worked at the fastening of his trousers.

           “Don’t you have … meetings… Senate… tomorrow?” he managed to say, with effort, between fast, uneven breaths.

           “Anakin, that’s what caf is for.” She gave him a playfully sultry look, which broke into concern in an instant. “Are you all right? Do you want to talk or just… rest?” She stroked his hair again, eyes searching his face.

           “Yes, but… After,” he told her, pushing himself up to kick off his boots.

           “After,” she agreed, leaning back against the pillows and smiling at him before he fell into her waiting arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original Tumblr post:
> 
> https://spectral-musette.tumblr.com/post/160373438559/late-night-homecoming-during-the-clone-wars-hes


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before The Phantom Menace, during the mission to protect Satine, Qui-Gon rescues a young Zygerrian child and leaves her in the care of Obi-Wan and Satine. Originally posted on Tumblr on 5-11-17.

           Satine woke to quiet voices accompanied by a strange whirring hum. Qui-Gon had returned to camp from his excursion for supplies, it seemed. She stayed still, carefully peering through her eyelashes towards the campfire, wondering if her Jedi protectors were discussing her.

           “I’m just concerned that she might not really be safer with us. The bounty hunters…”

           “Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon protested, his voice weary as he carefully cradled a large bundle wrapped in his robe, “ _believe_ me when I tell you that she most certainly _is_.”

           “Yes, Master,” Obi-Wan replied, humbled.

           “They were going to sell her,” he said softly, placing the bundle on the ground.

           The robe shifted, and Satine realized that they hadn’t been talking about her after all.

           A young Zygerrian was curled up tightly in Qui-Gon’s robe. The whirring, it seemed, was her loud, self-comforting purr.

           “I’m sorry, Master,” Obi-Wan murmured, plainly appalled. ‘I didn’t realize. I should’ve trusted that you…”

           “Hush, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon said, reaching out to ruffle his apprentice’s short hair. “It’s clearly impractical for her to stay with us for any length of time, which is, I’m sure, what you meant. I can contact Republic social services in the capital. It’s a few days on foot, but she’s much too malnourished and weak for the trip. I’ll go, catch a ride on the freight transport line if I’m lucky, make arrangements for someone to come pick her up. You stay here with the girls. It will do Satine some good, I think, to have something to take her mind off her own fears and troubles for a little while.”

           Satine sat up, and Qui-Gon met her challenging gaze and grinned.

           “Won’t it?” he asked. It never ceased to amaze her that “cheeky” was a word she frequently applied to the tall, handsome Jedi Master.

           “Probably,” she conceded. She pushed her blankets aside and stood up to get a better look at the rescued child.

           She was, without question, _adorable_. Her large, tufted ears twitched, and she opened her eyes slightly to examine Satine in return.

           “This is Satine, little one.” Qui-Gon rested one large hand on the short, fine fur between her ears.

           “Hello,” Satine greeted, smiling softly. “What’s your name?”

           “Ameret.”

           Qui-Gon raised his eyebrows. This was, evidently, new information.

           “Are you hungry, Ameret?” Obi-Wan asked. “Do you like fish?”

           Ameret nodded her small head, ears perking up.

           Obi-Wan flashed her the dimpled smile that always made Satine’s lungs stop working properly. Ameret purred more loudly.

           “One fish, coming up.” He stood up, stretched, and headed down towards the stream in his bare feet and undertunic.

           Qui-Gon busied himself preparing for the walk to the capital, stowing credits and rations into the pouches on his belt and a small satchel.

           Ameret, keeping her wide green eyes on him, edged closer to Satine gradually, until her narrow little shoulder bumped against Satine’s arm. She tugged on Satine’s sleeve, and Satine bent down obligingly. Pale, almost invisibly fine whiskers tickled Satine’s cheek as Ameret whispered in her ear.

           “Are they nice? They seem nice. But I thought Jedi were bad.”

           Satine held out her hand, and Ameret grasped it tightly.

           “I promise they are kind and good. I’m Mandalorian, so it was hard for me to believe it too. But I trust them both with my life.”

           Ameret nodded.

           Obi-Wan returned, wet but looking pleased with himself, gripping a large silver fish in both hands. Ameret’s eyes grew round and her small pink tongue flicked out.

           Satine busied herself with getting out the cooking gear so she wouldn’t have to watch Obi-Wan filet the late lamented fish. Ameret followed her like a little shadow, still purring softly.

           Obi-Wan knelt next to the fire and had the cleaned fish filets lightly browned and seasoned with fresh herbs in short order. Even Satine had to admit it smelled appealing, despite herself. He presented it to Ameret, who gobbled down about half before she stopped to breathe.

           “Share?” she offered to Satine, holding the camp plate out towards her.

           “Oh. That’s… very kind, little one. But that’s yours.” Satine squeezed her shoulder reassuringly.

           “Satine doesn’t like fish,” Obi-Wan told Ameret.

           She let out a horrified gasp before scooping up another forkful.

           “I like fish _perfectly well_ ,” Satine retorted. “I just don’t like _eating_ them.”

           “Mama says that if you don’t eat fish, your fur won’t be soft and shiny. But you have the shiniest fur I’ve _ever seen_ ,” Ameret observed, admiring Satine’s golden hair with bright eyes.

           “I expect it’s different for humans,” Satine said, smiling.

           Once the fish was gone, Ameret sat next to Satine, leaning against her as her eyelids started to droop and her soft purr became intermittent. Finally, she was quiet, her head in Satine’s lap.

           “All right,” Qui-Gon said, shaking out his robe and shrugging into it. “I shouldn’t be more than a few days. Satine is in charge, unless there’s trouble, then Obi-Wan is. I’m afraid Zygerrians are largely carnivorous,” he told Obi-Wan, casting an apologetic look at Satine.

           “Don’t mind me. I’ll dig for tubers and pick berries or something.” She rolled her eyes.

           “I’ll make sure everybody’s dietary needs are met,” Obi-Wan replied with a lopsided smile.

           “It makes it easier that she took to you so well,” Qui-Gon said, watching Satine tuck a blanket around Ameret’s small form. “It might be better if you try not to get too attached, though.”

           “Easier said than done.”

           “Probably.” Qui-Gon smiled a little sadly. He reached out to place a gentle hand on Satine’s shoulder. “Be safe.”

           And after a similar benediction for his apprentice, Qui-Gon disappeared into the darkness outside the circle of warm light cast by the camp fire.

           “Any commands, my lady?” Obi-Wan inquired, making a good show of deference but for the playful glint in his eyes.

           “Draw me a hot bath sprinkled with muja blossom petals, lay out my blue brocade robe, and I’ll take tea in the library, thank you.”

           “May I recommend a refreshing wash in the stream instead, you may borrow my robe if you really want to, and I will make you some tea if you’d like?”

           “You’d make a terrible valet, but yes to all three.” She carefully shifted Ameret’s head so that she could stand.

           “I’ll discount it as a possible career path,” he said dryly.

           “You do keep telling me how the Jedi lead a life of service,” she retorted, and he laughed.

           She picked up the offered robe and watched as Obi-Wan added one of his own blankets to Ameret’s cocoon, folding a corner of it to make a little pillow. She’d known him to be quite tender with her when she was afraid, but somehow seeing him dote over their small charge was making her heart do strange things. Well. Stranger even than was normal when observing her devastatingly attractive and charming young protector.

           It should prove to be an interesting few days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original Tumblr post:
> 
> https://spectral-musette.tumblr.com/post/160567051934/so-what-if-during-obi-wans-mission-with-satine


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A temporarily restful moment on Mandalore between Padawan Kenobi and the young Duchess. Originally posted on Tumblr on 6-14-17.

         Obi-Wan’s steps were weary, his shoulders bent. Satine had seen him exhausted, but never quite like this. At least there were no injuries this time, he just seemed completely spent after using the Force to pull the ceiling down and block the path of their attackers into the deep galleries, sealing them in a cocoon of twisted metal and broken concrete and fractured transparisteel. He shuffled to a half-crumbled wall and slid to the floor.

           “We should try to start cutting a way out,” she said, reaching for his lightsaber.

           He placed his hand over hers, gently. “Satine. We’re safe for now, and we should rest. Qui-Gon will catch up with us once he’s secured a ship.” He fought back a yawn through the last word.

           “Maybe I should keep watch.”

           “And what will you do if someone comes?” he asked, eyes closed.

           “Wake you,” she admitted, reluctantly.

           “And you don’t think it will make a racket anyway?” He opened one eye, considering her skeptically and gesturing towards the glittering carpet of shattered transparisteel surrounding them, catching the moonlight filtering down through the strata of the bombed city and the broken dome.

           “What if they try to blast their way through from above? They have jetpacks, you know.”

           “Ray-shielded,” he slurred. “Generator’s still online.”

           “What if they have percussion grenades?”

           “Fine. You worry about grenades. I’m going to sleep.” He slumped further down the wall, half-reclined and stretching out his legs, boots crunching through the gravel of debris.

           She sat beside him, curling against his chest.

           “I hate it when you’re right,” she told him vehemently.

           “I know,” he murmured, squinting at her as he reached out and brushed a strand of hair off her forehead.

           “I’m cold,” she complained, picking up his arm and draping it around her waist.

           “Hm.” He placed his hand, warm and strong and firm, on her back for just a moment before it went slack.

           And he was asleep.

           Really, deeply asleep, his breathing slow and even, his arm a dead weight on her. Maybe it was some Jedi trick. Maybe he was just that tired.

           “Sweet dreams, my love,” she whispered, pressing a finger to her own lips and then touching it lightly to his. She shifted, turning her shoulders and resting against his abdomen as she turned her face towards the thin shafts of light, shimmering and refracting on the edges of the transparisteel shards, accidental prisms, accidental beauty in the midst of destruction and chaos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original Tumblr post:
> 
> https://spectral-musette.tumblr.com/post/161814352739/for-this-anon-maybe-you-could-draw-satine


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shortly after The Phantom Menace, Anakin tries to comfort a quietly grieving Obi-Wan. Originally posted on Tumblr on 7-2-17.

       “I’m sorry I fell asleep when we were meditationing.”

           “Meditating,” Obi-Wan corrected. “Don’t be. That means you were relaxed, which is a good step. I dozed off plenty of times during meditation when I was your age.”

           “Does it stop being boring?” Anakin asked, a plaintive note in his voice.

           Obi-Wan smiled slightly. “I know it’s difficult to quiet your mind. But someday you might find yourself looking forward to it.”

           “Not likely,” Anakin muttered, pulling at his stub of a braid.

           “I did say ‘might’,” Obi-Wan replied.

           “Are you okay?”

           Obi-Wan dropped his forced smile for a moment, surprised by his new apprentice’s sensitivity to his mood.

           “Tired,” he admitted. “I didn’t sleep very well.”

           Truth be told, he’d barely slept at all. The nightmares…

           “Maybe _you_ should’ve slept instead of meditationing.”

           “Meditating.”

           “I could make you some tea.”

           Obi-Wan’s eyebrows went up.

           “When Mom is tired or sad, sometimes I make her tea.”

           “Do you like tea?”

           “Not really,” Anakin confessed. “But she does. And you do.”

           “All right,” he assented, following as his little apprentice scampered to the kitchenette in their quarters.

           Anakin stood on his tiptoes to pull the kettle from the cupboard and filled it under the tap, taking noticeable care not to spill a drop of water. He turned on the kettle and then reached for the basket on the counter where Qui-Gon had kept the tins of tea.

           “Which one?” Anakin asked, starting to paw through the containers, labeled in a variety of writing systems, many with colorful pictures of fruits and flowers.

           “Surprise me.”

           Anakin started prying lids off and sniffing, and sorting them into stacks.

           “Whoa. This one is just like a weird green powder!”

           It was on the tip of Obi-Wan’s tongue to tell him, _not that one, it’s Qui-Gon’s favorite, we shouldn’t…_

           But then, what did it matter? Might as well use it.

           “I’ll show you how that one’s made,” he offered, getting two cups from the cupboard.

           So he taught Anakin how to whisk the fine powder into a vivid green suspension. “Wizard!” Anakin said, admiring the swirls in the steaming water against the soft blue of the ceramic cups.

           Obi-Wan took a sip, remembering the first time he’d watched Qui-Gon make it, how he’d been just as eager to try the colorful brew.

           Anakin lifted his cup, and Obi-Wan couldn’t help laughing at his expression.

           “Eeeeugh!  It tastes like…”

           “Grass?” Obi-Wan suggested.

           “Dunno. Never tried grass. Is it any good?”

           “Not especially.”

           “Then maybe grass.”

           Anakin slurped a little more tea, pulling another comical face.

           “… You like this?” Anakin asked.

           “Not especially,” Obi-Wan said again, with half-hearted twist of a smile. “Qui-Gon did.”

           Anakin swallowed hard. “I miss him.”

           “I know.”

           Despite the heartache, Obi-Wan was forced to laugh again when Anakin downed the remainder of the tea in the cup while pinching his small snub nose.

           “Come on,” he said, putting the cups in the sink and rinsing the residue of green grit down the drain.

           “Where are we going?”

           “We’re going to sign out a speeder and visit a friend.” Dex was the only being on Coruscant who made caf strong enough to get him through a day like this.

          Or maybe he was just craving a friendly presence, being enfolded in four arms and squeezed until his ribs creaked loud enough to wake him.

          “Have you ever had a muja slush?”

          “Does that taste like grass too?” Anakin asked, dubious.

          “Much better than grass,” Obi-Wan promised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original Tumblr post:
> 
> https://spectral-musette.tumblr.com/post/162532145934/ive-just-gone-through-your-whole-blog-because-i


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before The Phantom Menace, in their continued attempts to evade agents of Satine’s enemies, Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan have taken the Duchess to an Outer Rim world without much advanced technology and minimal contact with the rest of the galaxy. They plan to travel along a pilgrimage route of the local religion, posing as a Sage, a Priestess, and her Protector. Originally posted on Tumblr on 10-7-17.

         “It just seems… disrespectful. To pretend to be something I’m not.”

           “And what makes you say you’re not?”

           Satine rolled her eyes. “Please. Tell me how even _you_ can claim that I am in any way a true Priestess of the Goddess worshipped on this remote world that I have never set foot on before today.” She folded her arms, bare and lily-pale against the bright blue of the priestess’s silk gown, and raised a skeptical eyebrow at him.

           “Well, Qui-Gon said that Priestesses are usually chosen for their beauty. And you certainly aren’t wanting in that respect,” Obi-Wan pointed out casually, feeling the heft of the ceremonial spear he’d been given for his role as Protector of the Priestess. It was much safer than continuing to study the way Satine’s gown draped elegantly over her curves or how much of her shoulders and back it left bare.

           “Flattery won’t win this argument,” she warned.

           “Who’s arguing?” He planted the butt of the spear between two cobblestones and leaned on it. “Look, I just meant that if the Priestesses are all avatars of the Goddess, and the Goddess is a personification of the Light, and the Force exists in all living things…”

           “See? That’s exactly the sort of rationalization I expected from you. You can wax philosophical all you like, but it’s _still_ a lie.”

           “It is and it isn’t. When a Priestess passes through a village on her pilgrimage, the people expect to see a lovely, gentle woman who is a servant of the Light, and that undoubtedly describes you.”

           “But the respect and the reverence that they afford her should be earned by her training and her devotion to their beliefs. Like a Jedi,” she pointed out, prodding his shoulder insistently to emphasize her point. “You wouldn’t appreciate people claiming to be Jedi when they haven’t been trained.”

           “I certainly would understand, if they were doing it to protect themselves and not for profit or personal gain,” he countered.

           “Oh, and what about the deep, _profound_ union between the Priestess and her chosen Protector that _transcends_ marriage?” she asked, putting her hand on the shaft of the spear and stepping closer to him, challenging him with a mock-sultry look. “Is that accurate as well?”

           He swallowed hard, heart quickening as she continued to lean towards him, lithe and graceful in her clinging gown. “Ah. Well. Clearly not everything is _strictly_ true in _every_ respect,” he conceded, stepping back.

           “Making it a _lie_ ,” she replied vehemently. But her eyes were bright, and her hand strayed down to brush against his.

           “Of all the disguises we’ve had to adopt, why is _this_ the one that’s so difficult to accept?” he asked, letting her take the spear.

           “I suppose it’s the religious aspect that doesn’t sit well,” she replied, dropping her eyes to study the carved symbols along the shaft, a spell for true aim.

           “It won’t hurt anyone,” he said, gently.

           “I know _that_ ,” she snapped back, “or I never would have agreed to it. I just don’t _like_ it.”

           “People _will_ notice if you seem ill at ease.”

           “Maybe they’ll just suppose I’ve had a lovers’ quarrel with my Protector.” She handed the spear back to him, not meeting his eyes, and smoothed his rough-woven grey tunic, as unadorned and simple as her own costume was elegant and elaborate. It wasn’t unlike a Jedi’s tunic, supporting Qui-Gon’s speculation that the religion had been founded by exiled or stranded Jedi many millennia ago.

           “Are we quarreling?” he asked, trying to will away his blush as her fingertips brushed the bare skin of his chest where the wrapped tunic crossed over his heart.

           “Obi-Wan, surely you know by now that if we _were_ quarreling, you wouldn’t have to _ask_.” She looked up at him, a smile quirking at the corner of her mouth.

           He leaned the spear against the low wall of the garden, and sat down beside it. “Satine,” he bade, holding out his hands to her. She came, sliding a hand along his arm to rest at his elbow as she sat beside him. “Think of it this way – you believe in the Force, don’t you?”

           “After the wonders I’ve seen you and Qui-Gon do? How could I not?”

           “So if the Force is real, then the Goddess is just another understanding of it, a way to grasp a truth that transcends any mortal comprehension.”

           “I suppose I agree with that.”

           “Then all of us who choose to walk in the Light are, thus, true servants of the Goddess. And you are no _less_ an avatar of the Goddess than any other woman on this planet who wears those adornments. The difference is only in some secret rituals that no one will expect you to perform anyway.”

           “This is _exactly_ what you already said, and I _still_ think it’s just sophistry.”

           “Would it make a difference if I told you that I genuinely believe it?”

           “Your ability to believe your own half-truths has no impact on what _I_ believe. Besides, you sound like you’re taking getting into character a little too far. Are you ready to trade in your lightsaber for that spear?”

           He smiled slightly. “Not remotely. But I admit there’s a certain appeal of simplicity to their belief system, and the expectations of my role. And having only one to please rather than a whole Council.”

           “In all senses of the word,” she said in an offhand tone, belied by the way she watched for his response with a sly sideways glance.

           “Are you _trying_ to make me blush?” he demanded, feeling his face flush more.

           “Succeeding, I would say. We won’t pass as lovers very well if you insist on turning so red at the mildest innuendo.”

           “I don’t _insist on it_ , it just _happens_.”

           “Stop teasing him, Satine,” Qui-Gon scolded, striding down the path to the garden with his Sages’ robes billowing after him.

           “I _wasn’t_ –“

           “Oh, _now_ you don’t object to lying,” Obi-Wan retorted.

           “Obi-Wan was just trying to convince me that I really _am_ an avatar of the Goddess,” Satine told Qui-Gon, rolling her eyes.

           “I see,” Qui-Gon replied, trying not to smile.

           “I _hate_ this,” she said, throwing up her hands expressively as she vented her feelings. “Why can’t we just blend in as ordinary people? Why do we have to lie?”

           “Because ordinary people need paperwork to pass between provinces, while clerics on a pilgrimage go unquestioned. Because we need access to the interstellar communications arrays that are only housed in the Temples. Because my contact is the High Priestess of this city and has graciously given us these clothes. Shall I continue?”

           “No,” Satine said, folding her hands in her lap, shoulders slumped.

           “Dear heart,” Qui-Gon soothed, sitting next to her and putting a hand on her hair, “either accept the lie for the sake of expediency, or accept Obi-Wan’s logical acrobatics and flexible definition of truth. No offense, Padawan.”

           Obi-Wan merely raised his eyebrows and held his tongue.

           “All right,” she conceded, letting out a short sigh of exasperation. “But I won’t promise not to tease him.”

           “Perhaps it will divert you from your pangs of conscience,” Qui-Gon agreed.

           “ _Master_ ,” Obi-Wan complained.

           “Keep the peace, Obi-Wan,” Qui-Gon instructed, standing and striding back towards the Temple.

           “Only if _she_ does,” he muttered darkly.

           “Dear Protector, my Chosen Beloved, other half of my soul,” Satine wheedled, folding her hands on his shoulder and resting her chin on them, “is that the proper tone in which to speak of your goddess?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original Tumblr post:
> 
> https://spectral-musette.tumblr.com/post/166157841624/for-the-sad-anon-who-wanted-something-happy-with


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shortly before the end of the Clone Wars, Master Depa Billaba goes to Ryloth to aid her old Master and meets Cham Syndulla’s young daughter. Originally posted on Tumblr on 2-7-18.

       Ryloth had been free of the invading droid army for some time now, but its problems were far from over. Food and supplies arrived from the Republic when the trade routes to the Rim were passable, but the aid hadn’t begun to address the destruction left by the Separatist invasion as the war lagged on, stirring political unrest. The murmurs were growing:

           Cham Syndulla had saved Ryloth.

           While Orn Free Taa had done nothing.

           Mace Windu, hailed by the population of Ryloth as one of the heroes of the liberation of their planet, had been recalled to oversee restoration and mediate the political future of Ryloth. Despite his warm welcome, the degree of discontent had prompted him to request that the Jedi Council send him one particular trusted ally.

           Depa Billaba knew enough _ryl_ to catch most of what was being said around her as she waited to enter the audience hall with the crowd, but she kept her expression carefully impassive, hoping that the gathered Twi’leks would continue to speak freely around her.

            _Syndulla is a hero,_ one declared passionately.

_But he’s a warrior, not a politician,_ another argued.

_At least we know he cares about our people,_ the first pointed out.

_Well, we know Orn cares about the pretty ones,_ a third interjected, eliciting cynical laughter from the group.

           The tall doors of the hall opened, and the crowd started pressing in. They parted, however, for the tall, stern man dressed in armor as he strode out.

           Mace Windu was notoriously difficult to read, but it seemed to Depa that he was rather pleased to see her. They traded bows, and he clapped a hand on her shoulder.

           “I’m pleased to find you well, Master.”

           “Likewise, Depa.” He looked her over intently, and there was a flash of something like regret in his dark eyes. She supposed he had wanted to be at her side when she recovered from her injuries, but the war went on. “I understand you’ve just about decided to take a padawan,” he said, favoring his former apprentice with one of his rare smiles.

           “Caleb Dume,” Depa confirmed, smiling too as she thought about the bright and inquisitive boy.

           “A fine choice,” Master Windu complimented with a slight nod. “Would you care for some practice with children?”

           “No offense, my Master, but it seems to me you have a way of making it sound like you’re doing _me_ a favor when it’s really the other way around.”

           He actually chuckled, and for a moment she could see past the battle weary and solemn general to the young knight he’d been when she was a girl. He put a hand on her shoulder and steered her away from the crowd.

           “Syndulla recently lost his wife, and their daughter is mourning deeply. He couldn’t find her this morning – likely she’s just nearby, but there’s a storm coming in and he’ll be heartsick and distracted until she’s home safely. I promised him I’d take care of it.”

           “What’s her name?” Depa inquired.

           “Hera. He thinks she might be hanging around the starfighters.”

           “I’ll find her,” she promised.

           “About this high,” he elaborated, holding his hand above the ground at the height of a child of seven or eight standard, “and pale green.”

***

           Cham Syndulla had been right about his daughter and the starfighters. Depa spied the girl lurking amidst some scrub along the edge of the field where she’d landed her Aethersprite, next to a few other light craft. It was a good hiding place – as Depa approached, the child held very still, and might have passed unnoticed if Depa hadn’t been specifically looking for her.

            _Are you Hera?_ Depa inquired in _ryl_.

           “I speak Basic,” the girl replied, with as much dignity as one could muster while hiding in a bush.

           “And very well indeed,” Depa complimented. “You know, your father is worried about you?”

           “How would I know that?” Hera replied, kicking at the dusty ground under the bush. “He never has time to talk to me.”

           “Surely that’s a little bit of an exaggeration?”

           “Does _stop fooling with that droid and eat your soup_ count?”

           “I’m afraid so.”

           Hera stood, dusting herself off and picking a few dry twigs and leaves off of her smock.

           “Would you like to see the fighters up close?” Depa offered.

           Hera lit up like a hyperdrive, green eyes bright. She was a beautiful child, and Depa suspected she strongly resembled her late mother. Not that Cham wasn’t a handsome fellow, but the girl’s coloration and delicate features must have provided an extra dose of grief each time her father looked at her.

           Not that this was any excuse.

           Hera danced around the fighter, hands skimming over the hull plating, inspecting the engines with hungry eyes.

           “You can get up in the cockpit if you like,” Depa suggested.

           “Are you sure it’s all right?”

           “Of course I’m sure. It’s my ship, isn’t it?”

           “Is it!” Hera exclaimed, awed.

           “Well. It belongs to the Jedi Order,” Depa admitted, “if you want to be perfectly accurate. But this is the one I use.”

           Hera scrambled up with a little boost, looking comically tiny in the seat. She even put the control band on her head, but it slipped down and rested on the bridge of her nose. She giggled. “How does she handle?” she asked, fingertips brushing the controls.

           “Light as a feather without the hyperdrive ring.”

           Hera chattered away happily, listing facts about fuel consumption in atmosphere and in space, turn radius and inertial dampeners, all the while avidly studying everything from the displays to the stitching of the seat cover. She mimed firing the lasers with an adamant, _take that, Clankers!_ Finally, reluctantly, she returned the control band to its hook, and held up her hands to be helped out of the cockpit.

           “Thank you,” she said fervently.

           “My pleasure, to be sure,” Depa replied kindly.

           “I suppose I’d better go home now.”

           “If you’d rather not get caught in the rain,” Depa agreed. “We could meet your father after the rally.”

           “He’ll have to scold me,” Hera remarked matter-of-factly.

           “Do you break rules just to get his attention?”

           Hera flushed at the candid question, but nodded slightly. “I love my father and I hope nothing bad ever happens to him. But when you’re an orphan, at least someone else takes care of you.”

           At a loss, Depa put a comforting hand on the girl’s little shoulder.

           “Do you have any children?” Hera inquired.

           She shook her head. “Not of my own. I will have an apprentice soon, though, and that’s a little bit like being a parent.”

           “Do pilots have apprentices? Ones that aren’t Jedis, I mean.”

           “In a way.  One might go to the Republic Naval Academy, and there are teachers and instructors there. Or I suppose one might get taken on as crew on a trading ship, and learn from the Captain.”

           “For instance, if you were good at fixing things. Like droids?”

           “Likely so. But I think you’d have to be…”

           “Bigger,” Hera concluded with a heavy sigh. “I know. Father says I can’t even have a swoop until I’m fifteen. I don’t know how I’m _ever_ going to learn to fly.”

           “You could use a training simulator on the holonet,” Depa suggested.

           “It’s not the _same_.”

           “Of course it isn’t. But it’s a start.”

           Hera nodded thoughtfully. “It is a start,” she agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original Tumblr post:
> 
> https://spectral-musette.tumblr.com/post/170625518909/can-you-do-a-sketch-of-hera-meeting-depa-billaba


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quiet moment between Obi-Wan and Satine following the Clone Wars episode “The Pursuit of Peace” (TCW S3 ep 11), when Satine is about to leave Coruscant. Originally posted on Tumblr on 6-9-18.

         Satine’s trip to Coruscant was almost over, and none too soon, she mused, stepping out of her Senate pod and into the bustling corridor. Though she stayed aboard the Coronet on her trips to the Galactic center, she still found herself longing for the serenity of Sundari.

           Coruscant had its charms, to be sure, being full of diversions; galleries, plays, interplanetary cuisine. Even the tedious hours in the Senate had their bright points. She had enjoyed spending time with Padme and her circle. It was a relief to be surrounded by so many like-minded politicians for once, who valued peace and truly cared not only for their own homeworlds, but worked to alleviate suffering anywhere in the galaxy. The ties amongst Padme’s allies ran stronger than political expediency; Padme and Bail Organa were undoubtedly very devoted friends, and the genuine cordiality and fondness extended to the others, like the young senators Mon Mothma and Riyo Chuchi.

           The particular friendship between the beautiful Padme and the very married Bail had set idle tongues to wagging. This was sheer nonsense, of course, as anyone with even passing familiarity with humanoid behavior would testify on seeing the contrast between Padme’s friendly warmth towards Bail and the heated glances she shared with the dashing young Jedi, Skywalker.

           And on the topic of handsome Jedi, this particular trip to Coruscant had afforded far less of Obi-Wan Kenobi’s company than Satine had hoped. She checked her datapad for any messages she might’ve missed during the Senate session as she walked, flanked by her guards. Nothing new, but she scrolled down to his last missive, which she’d received just before her arrival on Coruscant.

            _Headed out of the Core in the esteemed company of one Quinlan Vos. No doubt it shall be as memorable as our exploits in our padawan days, in the worst way. I hope to return before you leave Coruscant, but I’m afraid I can’t promise it. Stay safe._

The message made her smile, picturing the show of exasperation Obi-Wan would put on for the benefit of his childhood friend as they worked together on their mission. The admonishment at the end might’ve seemed ironic coming from a man who spent most of his days in active war zones, but the all too recent attacks on Bail and Padme made it rather less so.

           Not that she didn’t have faith in the Protectors who took up the duty as royal guards, but after the death of Aramis in the sabotaged speeder, Coruscant seemed even less secure than Mandalore.

           As if in response to her anxious thoughts, Obi-Wan appeared, stepping out of a lift into the busy corridor. His determined scowl lifted at the sight of her, and she felt her face flush and her heartbeat quicken a little as he strode towards her. His posture had the rigidity that she knew meant he was fighting weariness, and the reddish mud dried on his boots suggested that he’d come to the Senate building directly after planetfall from his mission. She extended a hand, and he closed the distance between them to grasp it like a lifeline.

           “I’m relieved to find you well, my lady.” He clasped her hand in both of his, and his eyes were earnest. “I’ve been given permission from the Council to accompany you for the rest of your stay and escort you back to Mandalore, if you wish.”

           Satine couldn’t help but wonder if any members of the Jedi Council suspected…

           Qui-Gon had been rather closely acquainted with her feelings for Obi-Wan, but she felt sure he would have kept the strictest confidence on the matter.

           And Anakin had very likely overheard their confessions during the incident with the traitorous Merrik, but she suspected that Obi-Wan’s protégé would be just as unlikely to tell the Council about it.

          Well, probably she was just considered a difficult dignitary best left to the charm of her old friend the Negotiator.

           “Not to sound ungrateful for your concern, but I believe the immediate threat has passed. Didn’t you hear that the parties responsible for the attacks were apprehended?”

           “The mercenaries, yes, my lady, but not those who engaged their services.”

           “Well, that’s not really a mystery, is it?” It had not been the first time Count Dooku had used underhanded means to sabotage any movement towards a peaceful resolution of the war, and she very much doubted it would be the last.

           “Indeed not. And all the more reason that the leader of the Council of Neutral Systems should have some additional security.”

           “I will never argue too much against your company, Master Kenobi.”

           “Then I shall endeavor not to vex you so much as to make you a liar, my dear Duchess.”

           “I’ll be sure to inform you when I’m vexed.”

           He chuckled softly and took her arm.

* * *

           In her study on the Coronet, Satine lifted off her headdress and set to work pulling the lilies out of her hair. She laid them on the desk in a pile, and, as she combed her fingers through her hair, she turned to see Obi-Wan lifting one lily to breathe in its fragrance. She smiled.

           “I’ll give you a bulb if you’d like to start one. They’re quite easy to grow.”

           “I’d like that very much,” he confessed, with a little chagrined smile at being caught as he placed the bloom back on the desk. “Though it might seem a shame to raise them only to deny them the honor of being twined in your hair.”

           “Even I can’t wear _every_ lily in the galaxy.”

           He smiled slightly, eyes still on the flowers on the desk.

           “May I ask something of you?” She looked at him intently.

           “Name it.” His tone was light, but she liked the reflexive trust of his quick response.

           “Would you… would you take off the armor?”

           He raised his eyebrows. “I suppose there isn’t enough immediate risk of battle droids to warrant it.”

           “Saying that seems like bad luck, considering the last time you were aboard the Coronet. But, all the same…”

           He pulled off the gauntlets, setting them on the desk next to the flowers, and then started unfastening the bracers, a tendril of hair falling across his forehead as he worked.

           “Let me,” she offered, stepping around the desk.

           He looked surprised, but he didn’t protest, standing patiently, quite still as she stripped one arm and shoulder, then the other, until only the chest plate remained. She rested her hands on his shoulders, fingering the fastening.

           “It’s not exactly Mandalorian, but it’s close enough to hurt,” she confided, meeting his eyes for a moment before dropping her gaze back to the armor.

           “I had wondered if you felt that way,” he admitted, voice grave and gentle.

           “I like that it keeps you safe,” she conceded, flicking the fastener open. “But I hate seeing you in it.”

           The effect of the dark, closely fitted clothing he wore under the armor with the Jedi tabard was still a bit foreign, but better than the bone-white armor that now lay in a heap like the discarded exoskeleton of some sea creature.

           “I can change into my regular tunics,” he offered, noting her regarding him skeptically.

           “Later,” she agreed. She ran her hands over his shoulders, ostensibly smoothing his tabard. He was wiry still, but he’d filled out since his youth, in bone and sinew if not in flesh. She wondered…

           “If I didn’t know better, I might suspect you were undressing me with your eyes just now,” he accused, tone light and a smile quirking under that infernal beard.

           “Point of fact, I _was_ just doing it with my hands,” she countered, sliding her fingers under the tabard over his heart and tugging him a step closer.

           “Satine.”

           “Don’t scold me.”

           “I just said your name.”

           “It was the _way_ you said it.”

           “And how should you prefer…”

           “Don’t make offers you won’t make good on,” she warned, pushing back lightly against his shoulders, though he stayed stubbornly in place.

           “I didn’t,” he countered. His expression was carefully blank, but his eyes were intense.

           “I think it’s only fair to tell you,” she said, “that I’m starting to feel a little bit vexed.”

           He caught her by the elbows, pulling her close and pressing his forehead to hers.

           “Satine,” he breathed, sweetly.

           She laced her fingers behind his neck, holding him fast as she covered his mouth with hers quickly, before either of them could speak again and break the spell.

           His hands in her hair… his breath in her mouth… the warmth of his arms enfolding her, his body pressed against her…

           It was all like water after long years in the desert.

           He broke the kiss too soon, stepping away and leaving her stumbling, trying to catch her balance and her breath.

           He paced in front of her, nervous, running a trembling hand over his beard again and again.

           “Forgive me. Don’t know what I … I can’t … ”

           He was babbling, nonsensical.

           “Obi-Wan,” she interrupted, patient. “ _I_ kissed _you_.”

           He looked up, startled. “Did you? I was quite certain it was the other way around.”

           “We could try again and find out,” she suggested.

           “Nothing else for it.” He held out a hand to her, and she went to him.

           This time, she was not at all sure. They persisted, without much clarity.

           Breathless, she curled against him, resting her temple against the arm he had wrapped around her and looking up into his eyes.

           “Your chin is all red,” he observed apologetically, brushing his fingertips soothingly over it.

            She returned the gesture, stroking the offending whiskers. “I’ll recover.”

            “Probably not in time.”

            “In time for what?”

            He kissed her again, exquisitely softly.

            “I love you,” she whispered, when he let her breathe again.

She felt his arms around her go a little rigid, and she wondered if she shouldn’t have said it. Maybe it seemed to him that she wanted more of him than he could give, and he would retreat, put up his barriers again.

            But he only held her closer. Perhaps, after all, he was just thinking of the last time she’d said it, the fear and the danger and the desperation.

            Not so now, though.

            “I love you,” she repeated.

            He cupped her face in his hands, his touch tender, his eyes soft.

            “Satine, you know I can’t make vows to you.”

            “I didn’t ask…”

            “But you _deserve_ them. You deserve a whole life, not just stolen moments and borrowed days and distance and heartache.”

            “What you think I _deserve_ is irrelevant. Have I no say in it? Have _you_?”

            He buried his face in her hair, his breath hot and uneven.

            “If my choice is to have only the moments I can steal, or nothing, of _course_ I want them.” She tangled her fingers in his hair. “A day, an _hour_ with you is more than a lifetime with anyone else.”

            He drew back a little, studying her face with a kind of solemn wonderment.

            “Then I suppose we must count every moment as precious.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original Tumblr post:
> 
> https://spectral-musette.tumblr.com/post/174728875269/pretty-please-ficlet-ask-duchess-and-knight-get-a


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short scene of Anakin angst soothed by Padme, set after the events of “The Shadow Warrior” (TCW S4 episode 4). Originally posted on Tumblr on 6-20-18.

   On some level, he was aware enough to know that it was a dream, a memory. But it still seemed so immediate, so _real_ , the incandescent flashes of green and blue and red, the grip of the unfamiliar saber in his hand… his _hand_ …

     And then the blinding, searing pain.

     And the panic…

     The stink of his own cauterized flesh and the sharp smell of ozone from the lightning…

      Anakin fought his way to consciousness, gasping in greedy lungfuls of air, heavy with the scents of nighttime on Naboo… the flowers on the balcony, the clean bed linens, Padme’s perfume. He rolled over and pressed himself against her, burying his face in her soft curls. The only drawback was that he could smell himself on her a little, and the smell of bacta was still hanging on him.

      He’d crawled out of the tank at the medical center only hours ago, “convinced” the human staff to discharge him, sliced the records to report that he’d been kept under observation for two days, and then collapsed into the back of Padme’s speeder for his escape.

      As fortune would have it, they weren’t far from the lake house, where he’d first kissed her, first confessed his love in a passionate, agonized jumble. It was where they’d spent their first night as husband and wife, his anxiety about making love to her wildly compounded by his new prosthetic arm, his fear of touching her with it, that he would hurt her, somehow taint her perfection with the awful thing.

      She had twined her fingers between the cold digits, then laid it over her heart. He was still getting used to the neural interface, but he could discern the heat of her skin and the quick beat of her pulse from the sensors at the fingertips.

  _You would never hurt me. I love you, as you are. Even this._

     It was familiar now, as dexterous with his saber and his tools as his old flesh hand. Sometimes he forgot.

      Sometimes he couldn’t forget.

      Padme stirred beside him, turning onto her back and reaching for him.

      “What’s wrong?” she whispered.

      “Nightmare,” he mumbled against her throat, settling himself on top of her as she stroked his hair.

      “Tell me.”

      He rolled off of her, pushing himself up to sit upright. She followed, nestling her cheek against his arm.

      “Anakin?”

      Tell her? Tell her that torture at Dooku’s hands had brought back the trauma of losing his arm with such vividness that he felt like all his healing had been reversed, the wounds on his body and soul ripped open again? Tell her that every time he thought he’d let go of the anger and resentment, it only seemed to return, eating at him like a parasite?

      She kissed his shoulder and then rested her chin there. “Please.”

      Her gentleness was like the night breeze, snuffing out the flame of his dark thoughts and leaving only ash and embers, for now. He let out a sigh, lifting the prosthetic hand, palm up, fingers splayed. “About this.”

      She put her own hand in it, and then tugged it close to kiss the back of it.

      “Don’t,” he begged.

      “What?”

      “I can hardly feel it. I don’t want to miss even one of your kisses.”

      She smiled, put her hands on his face and pulled him into one that took his breath away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original Tumblr post:
> 
> https://spectral-musette.tumblr.com/post/175089813744/a-little-scene-of-anakin-angst-soothed-by-padme


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During the Clone Wars, Ahsoka encounters an unexpected danger, much to Obi-Wan and Anakin’s dismay. Originally posted on Tumblr on 12-15-18.

           It started as a few sporadic chirps from the surrounding underbrush. The high-pitched song of the insects native to the jungle planet set one’s teeth on edge; or maybe it was just the knowledge that Ventress was out there somewhere in the tangle of trees and vines, waiting for them.

           But by the time the sun set, the insects’ cacophony started in earnest. But what was merely irritating to human ears…

           “Master,” Ahsoka said, her voice trembling slightly before her knees buckled and she plopped down into the mud, her palms pressed tight against her montrals.

           “We should get her back to the ship,” Obi-Wan said, kneeling down next to her and gently putting his hands on her shoulders.

           “I’ll do better. I can bring the ship to her,” Anakin said grimly, taking off at a sprint.

           Ahsoka was whimpering softly now. Obi-Wan squeezed her arm.

           “Can you hear me?”

           Her uncomprehending look was enough of a reply.

           “I’m going to use the Force to try to still the vibrations in the air around your head,” he explained anyway. She frowned, squinting at him and then closing her eyes tightly. He put his hands over hers, trying to further deaden the torturous frequency while he did as he promised.

           It was an intricate task. He pictured a little sphere around Ahsoka, filled with gases as balls and springs, bobbing on waves like ripples on a pond, bonds quivering. And he slowed them. Not so slow that she’d have any trouble breathing, just tranquil. _Be Still. Be Slow. Be Quiet._

           The expression of excruciating pain ebbed from her little face, overtaken by surprise as she opened her eyes. She lifted her hands from her montrals experimentally, and Obi-Wan dropped his as well. She let out a breath, and it emerged as a cloud; evidently he’d slowed the air effectively enough to significantly drop the temperature.

           “It’s all right, little one,” he soothed, trying to project a wave of reassurance and safety to her.

           “Now I can’t hear _anything_ ,” she said, though it only emerged from the pocket of slow-air soft and indistinct.

           “Good,” he replied, smiling a little ruefully.

           “I’m sorry. We could’ve caught Ventress! But it hurt _so much_.” Even muffled, her voice was plaintive, regretful.

           He shook his head slightly. There would be no _catching_ Asajj Ventress. He hadn’t agreed with Anakin’s decision to doggedly pursue her into the jungle from the Republic medical base she’d tried to sabotage. Let her slink back to Dooku and tell him she’d failed, again. There would undoubtedly be more standoffs with the Sith witch, but a confrontation with no avenue for escape would inevitably end bloody. This wasn’t the time to try to explain that to a padawan, though, even if she _could_ properly hear him. He leaned a little closer, feeling the cold on his face inside the bubble of stillness he was still working to maintain. “Nevermind. It wasn’t worth hurting you.”

           “What?”

           He drew back and let out a weary laugh.

           He had to tap her on the shoulder when the Twilight approached, ramp lowered. In the safety of the ship, he let the air move freely again, and was startled to realize how much effort he’d spent maintaining the pocket of stillness. Rather than dwell on his own fatigue, he watched Ahsoka shake her head slightly.

           “Ahsoka?”

           “The Twilight sounds like it’s about to fall apart, but I think that’s normal,” she told him, grinning.

           “Should we get back to the med center?” Anakin asked, glancing anxiously at Ahsoka as she settled in the copilot’s seat.

           “No,” Ahsoka said quickly. “I’m fine. I’d rather stay as far away as I can from those awful bugs.”

           “I’m _so_ sorry, Snips. I didn’t _know_.” Anakin’s face, still turned towards the viewscreen, looked stricken.

           “ _I_ didn’t know it would be like that either until it started to _hurt_. Don’t worry, Master. I’m _fine_ now.” She demonstrated with a bright smile.

           “We’ll have Master Nema look at you on Coruscant,” Anakin said decidedly, making for orbit, his hands dancing deftly over the controls.

           “I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m famished,” Obi-Wan announced. Truth be told, what he probably needed was sleep after the ordeal, but he wanted to make sure Ahsoka at least ate something, even if she was determined to prove to her master that her show of weakness had been temporary. “I’ll go to the galley and scrape together some rations and a pot of caf. What can I get you, Ahsoka?”

           “Caf please.”

           Obi-Wan turned to Anakin. “You let her drink caf?”

           “She says she likes it!”

           “She’s _fourteen_.”

           “What was that, Master?” A pert smile was dimpling her cheek. “I didn’t quite hear you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original Tumblr post:
> 
> https://spectral-musette.tumblr.com/post/181144288679/i-was-trying-to-fill-celebrate-the-clone-wars


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A scene set before the end of Clone Wars episode “Voyage of Temptation” (TCW S2 ep 13). before the Coronet’s arrival at Coruscant. An introspective Satine accepts Obi-Wan’s offer of comfort. (Not necessarily compliant with the Chapter 10 story). Originally posted on Tumblr on 1-4-19.

           The delegates were safe, but weathering the Separatist attack had not been without cost.

           Satine knew her own guards and the crew of the Coronet by name already, but not the fallen Republic troops.

           “Captain Rex will give you a full account of our losses,” General Skywalker told her as he leaned his gloved hand against the console on the bridge of the Coronet. He’d stepped in as pilot with her bridge crew dead, for which she was grateful, but she could still smell blaster fire, charred flesh and oxidized metal as she stood next to him. It made her feel ill and anxious. “I believe he’s in the infirmary, but I’ll see that he reports to you before we arrive at Coruscant.”

           “Thank you, General Skywalker.”

           “If I may ask… why?”

           “I wish to include them in memorial devotions.”

           Skywalker looked unexpectedly touched, his angelic young face settling into a melancholy grimace. “That’s kind, your Grace.” He studied her for a moment. “No offense, my lady, but you don’t look very well.”

           “Fatigue, no doubt. Thank you for your concern.”

           “I hope you can rest soon, then.”

           She took her leave of the bridge, picking through the debris in the corridor. It seemed she had no choice but to retire and be left alone with her thoughts.

           However, it was a little bit of a relief to be away from Skywalker.

           This wasn’t without a shade of guilt; he _had_ saved all their lives. She’d agonized a little through whether it might’ve been possible to subdue Merrik without taking his life, pointless as it was. Satine had seen so much death that she always took particular pains not to let herself grow cold to it; even the death of an enemy was not something she wished to take lightly. Ultimately, she’d let go of control of the situation when she hesitated to pull the trigger. She wasn’t and never had been a skilled enough marksman to have knocked the detonator from Merrik’s hand, even at close range. It had been years since she’d touched a blaster, let alone fired one.

           Or so she’d rationalized.

           Obi-Wan surely wouldn’t have let Merrik activate the detonator, whatever the cost, but Skywalker had taken the situation in hand with pragmatic efficiency that would have done a Mandalorian warrior proud.

           Her father had been like that: capable of such tender softness towards his own, but utterly ruthless with his enemies. Perhaps the memory of those spectres of clan Kryze, golden-haired warriors, too, who would’ve approved Skywalker’s actions so heartily, was troubling her.

           Or perhaps Skywalker’s company was all too immediate a reminder of what _she’d_ almost done.

           At any rate, Skywalker wasn’t wrong that she looked unwell, as she confirmed when catching her reflection in the panes of the viewports as she moved through the corridors.

           In her private chambers, she went through the familiar motions of starting to undress mechanically, hanging up the layers of her gown so as not to rumple it if she managed to lie down and close her eyes. She couldn’t seem to keep the faces of the dead –recently so and otherwise – from her mind. Looking into the mirror of her dressing table, Satine tried willing herself not to weep, without much success.

           The door chime startled her, and she hurriedly wiped her face. She’d shed layers down to the midnight blue underdress of her court gown, and the thin silk was spotted with tearstains. She briefly considered ignoring the summons, but instead moved through the sitting room and into the audience chamber to greet whoever wanted her attention. Clearly, it was better to keep busy.

           Her bodyguard Aramis stood by the door. “General Kenobi, your Grace.”

           She forgot to breathe for a moment.

           “Let him in,” she managed finally. “And then you may withdraw.”

           “Your Grace?” She couldn’t entirely see his expression through the helmet, but Aramis, loyal Protector, was clearly not keen to leave his Duchess unguarded so soon after a violent incident.

           “Please,” she said gently.

           He merely nodded slightly and did as she asked.

           General Kenobi.

           Obi-Wan.

            _Ben_.

           She’d called him that sometimes, all those years ago, when they were alone together. He’d never asked about it, perhaps taking it as a kind of contraction of his given name.

           Or perhaps he’d gleaned enough Mando’a to guess - _be’Ni_ , who belongs to me, to whom I belong.

           Rather than mount the stairs to the dais, she stood beside it. If he could come to her door, she would meet him that far at least rather than isolate herself with the formalities of the court.

           He’d traded his armor for plain Jedi tunics. They were a shade browner than the ones he’d worn as an apprentice all those years ago, closer to what Qui-Gon had worn. The beard too reminded her of Qui-Gon, and she wondered if he wore it in memory of his beloved Master. His hair, on the other hand, was far from Qui-Gon’s shaggy mane – short, neat and sleek, and just as beautiful as she had speculated it would be when he wore it close-cropped, if perhaps lighter than she expected. Her fingers itched to twine into the honey-colored waves, and she clasped the wayward things in front of her for the present.

           They stood for a few heartbeats in silence, perhaps both unsure of who they were going to be to one another: the Duchess and the General trading barbs, or Ben and Satine, who had so recently reaffirmed their old feelings.

           “I didn’t think you ought to be alone,” he ventured.

           She drew a breath, instinctively defensive. How dare he _presume_ to know what she needed _better_ than she knew herself?

           But…

           She couldn’t even pretend that she _wanted_ to be alone right now.

           She breathed out, letting the hauteur pass, and feeling only deeply, profoundly tired and sad.

           “Obi-Wan…”

           He closed the distance between them in a few swift steps. She raised a hand to touch his arm, but was startled to find her fingers trembling. He enclosed her hand in both of his, warm and strong. _Oh_ , how she had always loved his hands.

           He bowed his head and lifted her hand to place a kiss on her fingers. The light brush of his beard was surprisingly soft. She couldn’t help imagining how it might feel against her face, or…

           “You needn’t pretend not to be hurt.” His tone was gently rebuking as he raised a hand to brush the backs of his fingers lightly across her cheek.

           “It’s been some time since I had to watch men die because of me.”

           He frowned, the crease in his brow deepening. “Your men died, _my_ men died, because Tal Merrik betrayed your trust and colluded with Count Dooku. You are not responsible.”

           “I _know_ that,” she countered. “But that isn’t how it feels when men fall in your defense.”

           He tugged her against him, and she nestled close, feeling his breath on her hair.

           “I would’ve killed him,” she said softly, her hands trembling again even as they rested over his chest. “To save the ship. I would have.”

           “I would’ve done it first,” he promised, “believe me.”

           “That doesn’t change the fact that in my heart I was ready to take a man’s life.”

           “It was an impossible situation, Satine.”

           “Must you lecture me?”

           He snorted. “Am I lecturing?”

           “You always did lecture.”

           “I don’t mean to. Not always.”

           “So, you _do_ mean to sometimes?”

           “Probably,” he conceded, half a smile softening his expression.

           “I still feel sick about it.” She pressed closer against him, as though perhaps the warmth of him could burn the memory to embers.

           He cupped her chin in his hand, and she met his gaze, his stormy grey-blue eyes tender.

           “At the risk of lecturing, let me say this: even if you had pulled the trigger, it wouldn’t have tarnished your convictions. Under threat, we must do as we must, even take actions we abhor, to preserve the lives of the innocent.”

           “You know that all too well, don’t you?” She leaned into his touch.

           He bowed his head a little, pressing his forehead against hers. “It still hurts, every time.”

           She pressed her cheek to his, light fingertips stroking his bearded jaw. It felt like a stone lifted from her chest to hear him confirm that the soft heart of her beloved, gentle boy still beat under the General’s armor.

           “Anyway, would-have-dones don’t count,” he comforted, his voice a little lighter.

           “Nor in the other matter.”

            _Had you said the word_ …

           At the time, she hadn’t been sure that he would’ve said yes if she’d asked him to stay with her. She couldn’t help but wonder if she would have been more tempted to ask him to give up everything had she known for certain that he was hers for the asking.

           “Indeed not,” he agreed, pulling away slightly, his voice regretful.

           She tilted her head back to look into his eyes. “I don’t want you to think that I only said I loved you because I thought I was going to die.”

           “Didn’t you?”

           “Well, yes, that is _why_ I said it, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t true.”

           “We’ve both changed, Satine. Do we even know who the other has become well enough to speak of love?”

           “Is that how you feel?” she asked, a little stung.

           “It’s rational, reasonable to ask.”

           “But here,” she rested a hand where the tunic crossed over his heart, “is that the truth?” The familiar ache of longing for the boy she’d adored with her whole being mingled with a rush of affection and desire for _this_ Obi-Wan, tempered by loss and sorrow and pain, somehow both sterner and gentler than he had been even then.

           He placed a hand over hers and let out an uneven breath. “In my heart, you’re a star - no matter the time we’ve been apart, I cannot help but be dragged into your orbit again, like a passing comet.” He took a step closer, perhaps to demonstrate, perhaps drawn by that inexorable pull.

           “That metaphor grossly underestimates your own gravitational attraction,” she countered, reaching up to twine her arms around his neck.

           He stepped back to catch his balance and promptly lost it, his boot encountering the step of the dais instead. They fell in a heap on the pillows, him flat on his back, letting out a breath of laughter as she landed on his stomach, planting her hands on either side of his head.

           He pushed himself up on one elbow, and for the merest heartbeat she caught his expression of unguarded want.

           She met it with her own, just as her mouth met his, breathless and eager.

           The lilies fell around them as he touched her hair, mussing the careful arrangement of stems and locks.

           She broke the kiss briefly, starting to shift off of him. He moved a hand to her waist, keeping her tight against him as he buried his face in her hair. She took a moment to catch her breath, stroking his smooth hair as he nuzzled kisses down her throat, his fingers tracing along her spine through the delicate silk of her underdress.

           “Ben,” she murmured, with her lips against his temple.

           “Hm?”

           She smiled, the possessive reaffirmed. He who belongs to me, to whom I belong…

           On Coruscant, they’d have to become the General and the Duchess again, they would undoubtedly disagree and even quarrel. None of that would alter what she knew now with certainty: that the love they had shared years ago _had_ changed, but remained, and _would_ remain, despite war and sorrow and darkness.

           And for now…

           He placed a rather ardent kiss at the base of her throat, tightening his grasp on her waist slightly. She found herself trembling again, for entirely different reasons. She put a hand at his jaw, lifting his face towards her and gloating for a moment at the soft, affectionate expression on his handsome face. She bent to leave a light, lingering kiss on his waiting lips before stretching to grasp a handful of the dais curtain, tugging it closed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original Tumblr post:
> 
> https://spectral-musette.tumblr.com/post/181714464309/a-scene-set-before-the-end-of-clone-wars-episode
> 
> The speculatiive etymology of Ben as a Mando'a endearment is based on the dictionary at Mandoa.org


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short scene set during Attack of the Clones, just after the battle of Geonosis. Padme checks on a recovering Anakin. Originally posted on Tumblr on 5-6-19.

   “Should you be up?”

           Anakin paused in the quiet corridor outside the infirmary, his posture a little guilty, and turned to face her.

           “I wanted to see you.” He held out his left hand.

           Padmé took it, leading him down the corridor, looking for any haven of privacy. She and Obi-Wan had held vigil at Anakin’s bacta tank and bedside, sometimes together, sometimes taking turns. She hoped Obi-Wan was resting now, during the night cycle aboard the ship, but she wouldn’t rely on it.

           The infirmary was well over capacity, with any nearby conference rooms and corridors serving as overflow wards, so she didn’t suppose the overtaxed Jedi Healers or medical droids had the attention to spare to be overly concerned about a stable patient taking a walk, provided he wasn’t gone too long.

           She found a supply closet. It was stripped bare, empty shelves and collapsed bacta canisters reminding her again of the full toll of the battle in flesh and blood and suffering. Anakin sat down gingerly on a stack of empty canisters, resting the bulky metal cuff that covered the severed end of his right arm on his thigh.

           He noticed her eyes on it and heaved an uneven breath. “There was too much nerve damage to reattach it,” he explained. “They’re going to fit me with a prosthetic one.”

           “Oh _Anakin_ ,” she breathed, stepping close.

           He wrapped his good arm around her waist, clutching her against him, his face pressed against her chest.

           She put her cheek against the soft, short curls on the top of his head, stroking his trembling shoulders through the thin layer of the infirmary robe. The smell of bacta covered the stink of charred of flesh that had hung on him the last time she held him, but she was sure she’d remember it as long as she lived.

           His chest heaved as he tried to calm down, and the heat of his breath through her dress seemed to spread through her body as she felt her pulse quicken. He raised his chin, looking up at her, his eyes clear and just a little wet.

           “Padmé. The things we said, when we thought we were going to die…” He paused, drawing back, though his hand still rested on her hip, fingers twisting in the fabric of her dress. “We could forget about them. If you want to.”

           His voice sounded dead as he said it, as though he was offering to cut off his other arm.

           In answer, she grabbed his face and kissed him hard.

           Probably much harder than she should’ve been kissing a boy who was as injured as he was, but as he responded in kind, she didn’t suppose he objected.

           Their first kiss had been full of aching longing and tender uncertainty. And since, kissing in desperation, in relief, they all had a certain restraint; she had felt the simmering of his passion for her, banked like a hearth fire, waiting for her sign that it was welcome before blazing to brilliant life.

           So she gave it, pressing herself against him and kissing him long and deep, drinking in all his fervor and sweetness in a heady draught.

           She pulled back to catch her breath. He breathed in sharply too, then let out a soft, wanting sigh that made her knees weak.

           “I _never_ want to forget about them,” she told him, reaching up to stroke his cheek and then run a fingertip over his lower lip, reddened from the intensity of her kisses. “Do you?” she asked, even though she knew the answer.

           He shook his head and mumbled her name before tugging her close against him and recklessly back into the kiss. She indulged for a little while, savoring his breathless enthusiasm and the reverent touch of his hand along her back. When she pulled away again, she put a finger against his lips, restraining him with the lightest touch.

           “You need to rest, Anakin. You’d better get back to your bed before they give it away.”

           He took her hand, leaving hot kisses on her palm and wrist.

           “I’d rest better if you were beside me.” He paused, flushing as it seemed to occur to him what they might do in a bed other than resting. “That is… I meant…”

           She soothed him with a light touch along his jaw, resting a fingertip on the cleft in his chin. “I’d take you back to my stateroom, except I don’t think we’d rest at all.”

           He looked so startled and transcendently thrilled at this confirmation that she wanted him as he wanted her that she couldn’t help kissing him just once more.

           Or twice.

           Or…

           “Padmé,” he sighed against her throat, when they finally paused to breathe again. “What are we going to _do_?”

           “I don’t know,” she admitted, petting his hair gently. “But we’ll figure it out. Together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original Tumblr post:
> 
> https://spectral-musette.tumblr.com/post/184698261449/a-short-scene-set-during-episode-ii-just-after


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short scene set during The Phantom Menace, after the pod race, extending Qui-Gon’s conversation with Shmi Skywalker while Anakin packs to leave home. Originally posted on Tumblr on 5-13-19.

         _I’ll watch out for him. You have my word. Will you be all right?_

           “I did try.”

           The weight of the Jedi’s large, warm hand lifted from Shmi’s shoulder, and he sank down to the bench along the wall in the hallway, his lanky form folding up as he rested his elbows on his knees. For the first time since she’d met him those fateful days ago, he looked weary and, for all his towering height and magnetic charisma, uncertain, vulnerable. He ran a hand over his face, brushing sand from his beard, and when he looked up to meet her gaze, she saw the regret in his eyes.

           “What?” she prompted, her heart too full to follow the thread of what he’d said before.

           “I _did_ try to free you too. It wasn’t my intent to take him from you.”

           Anakin scampered between the workshop and his bedroom, seeking out the irreplaceable treasures of a little boy as he packed, chattering to his droid. She watched him dive into a drawer and emerge, lucky spanner in hand. She couldn’t help smiling a little, even as her heart broke.

           “His freedom means more to me than my own ever could,” she reassured the Jedi. “I’d have chosen him.”

           “I know that.” He laced his fingers together, dropping his eyes to stare at them.

           “And he’s choosing this.”

           He heaved a sigh, straightening and leaning back against the wall. “A child so young, no matter how precocious, cannot possibly understand what it means to choose the life of a Jedi.”

           “How old were you, when you chose it?”

           He smiled slightly. “Originally, I didn’t. Like most Jedi, my parents sent me to the Temple for training when I was a baby. Somewhere along the way, though, you begin to choose it every day.”

           “Someday, perhaps he will too.”

           “I’m sorry it’s this way.”

           “I’m not.” Shmi shook her head firmly. “Without you, Watto would never have let him go. Especially not after he started to win. It would always have been one more race. Until he…” She gulped the end of that sentence, trying to release that old fear of seeing her little boy, broken and bloodied in the sand at the bottom of a canyon… It would _never_ be, now.

           “I fear someone else might’ve come for him, eventually. And it might have been… worse.”

           “What do you mean?”

           He hesitated. “There’s… a prophecy about a child conceived by the Force.”

           Shmi couldn’t breathe for a moment. She sank to the bench next to him.

           “You believe me?” she finally whispered.

           “You would have no reason to deceive.”

           “I’ve never told anyone before. Not even Anakin.”

           “Hasn’t he asked about his father?”

           “I only told him that I didn’t know. It’s common enough in the slave quarters.”

           “I’m sorry,” he said gently.

           Shmi shook her head.

           “Your word aside, Anakin is… _extraordinary_ , even among all the Jedi I’ve ever known.”

           “What does the child of this prophecy do?”

           “Balances the Force, Light and Dark.”

           “What does that mean?”

           He smiled ruefully. “I wish I knew.”

           “You think some… some agent of the Dark might have sought him out?”

           “I’m afraid so. But, then, how do you know I’m an agent of the Light?”

           She considered. “I know the Jedi serve the Light. And…” She shrugged. “I just …feel it.”

           “I try. To follow the will of the Force, to serve the Light. I do try. An old teacher of mine likes to say that ‘try’ is meaningless. That actions matter, not intentions. But I don’t agree.”

           “Despite the prophecy,” she said, trying to process the idea that cosmic powers might be squabbling to claim her Anakin, “you were willing to let him choose to stay?”

           “He may well be the Chosen One, but he’s still a boy, and he’s still your son. I freed him, I didn’t buy him. I’d have found some way to protect him, I suppose, if he had decided to stay.”

           “And _you_ can’t stay?” she asked softly, lightly resting her hand on his. “Even a little while longer?”

           He held it fast, enfolding it. “People will suffer if I do. Padme’s people.”

           “Then you can’t,” she conceded. “Will you come back?”

           He squeezed her hand. “I want to. But I don’t like to make promises I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep.”

           So she’d noticed. He had never promised her that he would free Anakin, but she’d read the intent in his eyes all along.

           She studied them now, and saw the same resolve.

           “A Jedi doesn’t amass the wealth it would take to free a slave outright. And we are expected come and go at the bidding of the Council.”

           “Do you?” she asked, skeptical.

           His mouth twisted into another rueful smile. “Sometimes.”

           She placed her other hand on his, fixing in her memory the way his hands dwarfed hers, the warmth and gentleness of them.

           “Once Anakin is safe at the Temple, I’m afraid I might have to go stop a war. And there’s always a chance the war might stop _me_.”

           “I understand.”

           “It might take time for me to get back. It might not happen.”

           “It’s almost enough that you want to.”

           “It _isn’t_ ,” he told her, reaching to cup her cheek. “Just because I can’t promise it doesn’t mean you don’t deserve it.”

           “ _Deserve_ doesn’t mean anything to me.” 

           “No. I suppose you wouldn’t have any illusions about the universe itself being just.”

           For Anakin, perhaps it could, but she'd long since given up on what she might think she was owed. “It will be or it won’t be. But it pleases me to know that you want it.”

           “I want it _very_ much.”

           “Mooooooooooooooom.” Anakin’s plaintive summons startled them both, but he was still in the bedroom, as the various clatters and thuds assured them. “I can’t find my data chips!”

           “Coming, Ani,” she called back, standing. She paused though, turning back to look down at the Jedi.

           At Qui-Gon Jinn.

           She stooped a little, leaving a kiss, light as a drop of dew, on his brow.

           She considered him, the look of mild surprise on his handsome face, and she bent again to kiss him on the mouth, just as soft and fleeting, before she fled to help her son find his treasures.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Original Tumblr post:
> 
> https://spectral-musette.tumblr.com/post/184852622729/a-short-scene-set-during-star-wars-episode-i-the


End file.
